Be Careful what you Wish For
by Deana
Summary: Modern AU, NYPD detectives. With no murder cases lately, Aramis is bored, and takes a case of an accidental fireworks death for him and the others to solve. (My entry for the 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest for July!)
1. Chapter 1

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 **Be Careful what You Wish For  
** A Musketeers modern AU story by Deana  
My entry in the July 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest!

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"I'M BORED! Why aren't people killing each other lately!"

Everyone swung their eyes towards Aramis, who was sprawled in his office chair with his feet up on his desk, crossed at the ankles. His right shoe was untied, which he apparently had yet to notice.

"Let me rephrase," Aramis continued. "I'm not saying that I want people to die, but we haven't had a case in _two weeks_! There's nothing to do!"

"There's always paperwork," Athos dryly said, typing away on his computer.

"Mine is all done!" Aramis told him, spreading his hands to indicate his spotless desk. "I literally have absolutely _nothing_ to do."

"I agree with Aramis," said Porthos. "I want some action."

"Why can't you just enjoy the peace?" Athos asked.

"Peace?" said Aramis, swinging his legs off the desk. "Athos, how many times have I been in the hospital in the past year?"

Athos looked at him. " _Too_ many."

"Exactly," said Aramis. "I've either been there or on medical leave more than I've worked! Today, for once, I actually feel _good_." He winced when he said that, hoping that his friends wouldn't question his meaning. "I don't want to just sit here." He stood up before any of them could ask him what exactly he meant by 'for once'. "I'm going to the bakery. The usual?"

Athos nodded.

"Porthos?"

"Yup."

Aramis nodded. "Good; I shall return from my mission momentarily." He took two steps away from his desk…and tripped over his shoelace.

Porthos dove out of his chair to grab him.

Aramis swallowed his gasp of pain when a muscle in his left lower back stretched the wrong way. "Thanks," he said. "I'm fine." He knelt to tie his shoelace, inwardly wincing from the ache. When he straightened back up, he found Athos' disbelieving eyes staring into his own, as if he'd felt the pain himself.

"Be right back!" Aramis said, before heading out the door. He passed d'Artagnan coming in and took his order too, before getting into his car.

The purr of the Camaro's engine always did wonders to soothe Aramis' mind, and he straightened the Pusheen plush that hung from the mirror before he drove off.

The bakery was barely a mile away, and Aramis went inside and studied every delicious item, as he always did. He couldn't leave without buying some extras, and it was a slightly happier Aramis that walked back inside the precinct fifteen minutes later.

"People are such idiots," he heard someone say as he headed up to the detective division. "Even though someone dies, they just keep selling."

"Selling what, Bob?" Aramis asked.

"Fireworks!" Bob answered.

"Someone got killed by setting off fireworks?" said Aramis.

"Yup."

Aramis held out his hand for the file. "I'll take the case."

Bob looked relieved. "You will? That would be great; I already have my hands full."

"My pleasure!" said Aramis. He took the file and hurried back to his office. "Gentlemen!" he exclaimed, after opening the door. "I have it!"

Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan looked at him.

"Besides the pastry?" said Porthos. "What?"

Aramis walked over to his desk and plopped the file down in front of him. "Our new case!"

"What is it?" Athos asked.

"I snatched it from Bob," said Aramis, passing out the goodies. "A fireworks death."

D'Artagnan winced at that.

Aramis noticed. "You know someone who was killed by fireworks?"

"When I was a kid," d'Artagnan said. "The father of a friend. He was a super-nice guy."

"Horrible," Porthos commented, biting into his brownie.

"It's very sad when that happens," Aramis said, handing d'Artagnan his chocolate chip cookies. "As if the punishment for buying illegal fireworks is a death sentence."

"Yeah," d'Artagnan nodded. "I never even thought of it that way."

"Well I'm determined to catch the seller so he can't cause anyone else's death," Aramis told him, as he handed Athos his éclair. "Are you with me?" he dramatically asked.

Athos nodded. "Of course."

"Porthos?" said Aramis, settling at his desk with his chocolate roll.

"Mo mef meah."

D'Artagnan chuckled at the sight of Porthos with his mouth full.

Porthos swallowed before repeating himself. "Oh heck yeah."

"D'Artagnan?" said Aramis.

"Definitely," he said. "It'll feel good to get a jerk like that off the street, especially after seeing my friend lose his father."

"If possible, I'll let you be the one to cuff him," Aramis said.

D'Artagnan smiled.

A few seconds later, Captain Treville walked in. He stopped at the sight of the pastries. "What are we celebrating?" he asked, going over to the box and taking something out.

"Our new case!" said Aramis.

Porthos held the folder up for Treville to take, and he looked through it with a brownie sticking out of his mouth. His eyebrows went higher and higher as he read.

"Something on your mind, captain?" Aramis asked.

Treville walked over and put the folder on Aramis' desk, biting the brownie and grabbing the rest out of his mouth so he could speak. "I've seen the very truck that is described here."

"Really?" said Aramis, leaning over to read. "Oh, that's irony for you."

"What?" asked Porthos.

"It's a toy company truck," said Aramis, taking a slurp through the straw of his iced coffee. "This jerk advertises toys for kids but kills their fathers. Unbelievable."

"So when do we start?" d'Artagnan said.

"Today," Aramis answered. "This jerk won't sell anymore fireworks if _I_ can help it."

If his dramatic statement was slightly diminished by the sound of his straw running out of liquid, no one noticed.

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The first stop that they made was to the dead man's house. His widow opened the door, looking sad.

"Mrs. Carson? I'm Detective d'Herblay from the NYPD," said Aramis. "Regarding the fireworks incident."

"Incident," she echoed, her eyes filling with tears. "My foolish husband has been reduced to an 'incident'."

"I'm so sorry," Aramis said. "I didn't mean it like that…"

"I know," she said, taking a deep breath. "You're just trying to be tactful. Please come in."

They obeyed, and she led them into the living room. "Can I get you anything?" she asked. "Coffee? Water? Lemonade?"

"No thanks," Aramis answered. "But can I get any for _you_? I imagine you haven't felt much like eating in the past week."

The lady was surprised at the caring statement, and raised her hands to her face as the tears escaped.

Without hesitation, Aramis took her into his arms and pulled her down to sit on the couch, holding her tightly as she cried. _Lemonade,_ he mouthed to d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan did as he was told, going into the kitchen and finding it in the fridge. He poured a glass and brought it back, placing it within reach of Aramis.

Athos and Porthos sat down and waited.

The woman eventually calmed somewhat, abruptly realizing that she was soaking a stranger's shirt, and she pulled away with a blush of embarrassment. "Sorry," she said, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief that had mysteriously appeared in her hand.

Aramis smiled and handed her the lemonade. "No need; we're help to help. Can my friends look around and see if they can find any clues as to where the fireworks came from?"

She nodded and sipped it. "Of course, please do."

The others stood and walked off.

For the next hour, Aramis and Mrs. Carson talked. She told him everything that she knew—which wasn't much—and Aramis tried his best to comfort her.

By the time the others were done with their search and headed back to the living room, her laughter was filling the air.

D'Artagnan heard it and walked over to Porthos. "He actually got her to laugh, at a time like this! That's awesome."

Porthos nodded. "Aramis is unique."

Athos caught Aramis' eye and mimed holding a phone to his ear.

"Do you by any chance have his cellphone?" Aramis asked.

She sighed. "Yes, it's right here." She took it out of her pocket and handed it over.

"Can I take it with me?" Aramis asked. "There might be a clue in it somewhere."

She nodded. "Of course. I hope there is."

Aramis smiled and they both stood. "I'll keep in touch, Mrs. Carson. Stay strong; I won't stop until we catch the man responsible for this."

She reached out and squeezed his hand. "You're a dear. All of you are; thank you so much."

Aramis nodded and kissed her on the cheek before they left.

"That was pretty amazing," d'Artagnan remarked to him as they got into their police SUV. "You had her laughing."

"Of course I did," Aramis said. "Look at my face."

"Yeah, it sure is funny-lookin'!" Porthos exclaimed.

Aramis gave a mock-huff. " _Handsome_ is what it is. Women find me charming. If I had the time and energy to date, they'd be knocking my door down!"

No one disputed it, because they knew that it was true.

Everyone was quiet as Athos drove, until Aramis suddenly spoke. "Whoa!"

Athos glanced at him. "What?"

Aramis was looking at the dead man's phone. "He took pics of the truck!"

"You're kiddin'!" Porthos exclaimed, leaning forward to see around the seat.

Aramis kept flipping through the pics. "He got the _guy_! Look, the dude's right here!"

Porthos tried to squeeze himself between the seats.

"Porthos!" Athos complained. He pulled into the next parking lot and stopped the SUV so they could all see.

Porthos had taken the phone and zoomed-in the pic to see the man better. "Doesn't look familiar." He passed it to Athos.

"I've never seen him before."

D'Artagnan waited patiently until the phone was passed to him. "He looks like the ice cream man."

Everyone swung around to look at him.

"Just 'looks like', or ' _is_ '?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan studied him. "It could really be him."

"What time does the ice cream truck usually pass your apartment?" Aramis asked.

"Nono," said d'Artagnan. "I mean _our_ ice cream man; the guy who comes to the station."

"You're kiddin'!" Porthos exclaimed again.

"Nope."

Aramis took the phone back and looked at the pic again. "That's the ice cream man? Really? I've seen him a million times…"

"It's a new guy," said d'Artagnan. "I bought something from him last week and yesterday."

"What?!" said Porthos. "And you got nothin' for _us_?"

"I was on my way out!" d'Artagnan answered.

Aramis hit the voicemail button on the dead man's phone and they listened to the messages on speakerphone.

 _"Hey, it's me. We can meet today for the sale. You have my phone number."_

"Bingo!" Aramis exclaimed. He looked at the call list, and sighed. "Private number. Figures."

"At least we have his face and voice," said Athos. "It's an excellent start."

"It is," Aramis agreed, before waving his hand towards the steering wheel. "Back to the station; we have some ice cream to buy!"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

When the ice cream truck later pulled up at the station, the four of them were already outside waiting.

"Just the person we wanted to see!" Aramis exclaimed.

The man chuckled. "Desperately needed ice cream today?"

"Yes," said Aramis, seeing that d'Artagnan was right; he _did_ look like the man in the picture. "How many flavors do you have, Bob?"

"It's 'Mike'. How many flavors?" Everything he sold was advertised on the truck.

Aramis laughed. "That was a joke. Do you have any ice cream sandwiches?"

"Yup."

"Got any of the strawberry shortcake thing on a stick?"

"Yup."

"How about that funny thing they used to sell years ago where it was kinda shaped like the cardboard in toilet paper and there was a plastic piece on the bottom that you had to push up to get the ice cream to come out?"

D'Artagnan looked at Aramis as if he was insane.

"Like this?" Mike held one up.

"Wow," said Aramis. "I'll take all three."

The others placed their orders and continued their small talk with Mike until he finally left.

Porthos started laughing. "You're a nut, Aramis."

Aramis smiled and held up his phone, which had recorded the conversation. "Now we can see if his voice matches the one on Mr. Carson's cellphone."

They took their ice cream and headed back inside, dropping both phones off at the lab before going to their office.

Treville was getting coffee, and looked at them as they came in. "First it's pastry and now ice cream?"

Aramis nodded and handed him the strawberry one. "Wait till you hear what we found out."

Fifteen minutes later, Treville was shaking his head. "What a clown," he remarked. "The man who delivers ice cream _here_ , of all places."

"Now we just gotta find out if the voices match," Aramis said, crumbling up the paper from his ice cream sandwich.

Ten minutes later, the lab called.

"Ninety-five percent match!" Aramis exclaimed, hanging up the phone. "We can start surveillance on him."

"Well done," said Treville.

"Wouldn't it be easier just to arrest him tomorrow when he comes back in his ice cream truck?" said d'Artagnan.

"It would," said Aramis, opening his second ice cream treat. "But we not only need to catch him with the fireworks, but _delivering_ them, if possible."

"Any lawyer could call our evidence circumstantial otherwise," said Athos.

"A picture of him with a truck and the voice match isn't good enough," said Porthos. "We can't say that he sold somethin' without real proof."

D'Artagnan, who was still learning, nodded.

"Allrighty then," said Aramis. "Time to plan!"

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The next day, Mike the ice cream man never noticed the different vehicles that followed him around. When he eventually drove home and parked in his garage, Aramis wasn't surprised at all to see no evidence of the fireworks truck.

"See, d'Artagnan, this is a sneaky guy," said Aramis.

D'Artagnan nodded. "So now that we know where he lives, do we get a warrant to search his house?"

Aramis shook his head. "He won't have a single firecracker or sparkler in there; he's smarter than that. Everything is stored somewhere else."

"With the truck."

"Exactly!" Aramis answered. "Write down this address."

D'Artagnan obeyed.

"My guess is that he does his 'second business' on the weekend," said Aramis. "Once we know where he keeps the stuff, he's doomed."

D'Artagnan chuckled.

Once Saturday came, all four of them were ready, showing up at Aramis' apartment at 6:30am.

"We'll take 2 vehicles," said Aramis, strapping on his bulletproof vest. "D'Artagnan's with me."

The others nodded, never complaining about Aramis taking full control of the case.

All four of them headed to Mike's house and parked nearby, waiting to see where he went that day. It was a half-hour before he drove out of his garage in a silver car.

Aramis pulled behind him in an unmarked police SUV, and let a couple of cars get in front of him so Mike wouldn't notice that he was being followed. "Got the plate?" he asked d'Artagnan,

"Yup." He picked up the radio and switched it to the private channel that he knew was being monitored by Athos and Porthos, and called it in.

" _Michael Jones,"_ the dispatcher told them. _"Arrested twice for selling fireworks, was jailed on the second charge."_

"Yes!" d'Artagnan exclaimed to Aramis. "It's really him!"

"You were right!" Aramis said, before holding up his hand for a high-five, making d'Artagnan laugh.

" _Good job, kid,"_ they heard Porthos say over the radio.

For the next ten minutes, they followed him. When they got on the highway, Athos and Porthos fell behind, and Jones' car picked up speed.

"Do you think he knows he's being followed?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Maybe," Aramis said, speeding up. "We'll know if he leads us on a wild goose chase."

Jones stayed in the high-speed lane, making them think that he was just a ridiculously-fast driver.

"He's going over 80!" d'Artagnan said.

Aramis nodded, going 78 just to keep him in sight.

" _Houston, we have a problem,"_ they suddenly heard over the radio.

D'Artagnan grabbed the radio. "What happened?"

" _Car accident—not involving us,"_ Porthos said. _"But the traffic has stopped."_

Aramis sighed. "We'll tell you where we end up."

" _Don't arrest him without us,"_ said Athos.

Aramis knew that they worried for him, after all the mishaps he'd had in the last year, plus d'Artagnan was still inexperienced. "We'll try."

Five minutes later, Jones took an exit and they followed. More cars got in between them, and Jones eventually led them to a business park that was full of garages.

"This has to be it," Aramis said. "He's leading us right to his stash!"

"This is fun," d'Artagnan suddenly said.

Aramis smiled at him. "Didn't I tell you last year that this job was a blast?"

"You sure did!"

They watched as Jones pulled up at a garage, and Aramis stopped the SUV far enough away that he wouldn't notice them.

Jones walked over to the garage door, unlocked it, and opened it up…displaying a truck covered with murals of toys.

Aramis picked up the radio. "We found the truck!"

No answer came back, and they realized that their friends weren't in their SUV anymore, likely helping with the unexpected car accident.

Aramis texted the address to Athos and Porthos in a group message.

"Are we really gonna wait?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Part of me says, 'of course not!'," Aramis answered. "While another part of me says, 'it depends'. Let's just watch for a while."

D'Artagnan nodded.

Jones opened the back door to the truck and jumped inside.

Aramis took out his cell phone and turned on the video camera, zooming as far as it could go. "Can't really see the stuff," he said.

A few minutes later, another SUV arrived and parked in front of the open garage.

"No way!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "He's gonna sell them right in front of us!"

Aramis texted their friends that there was a buyer, before reaching for his door handle. "We have to do something about this, even if only to film the sale."

D'Artagnan nodded and climbed out his own door, and they stealthily got closer and closer until they could film Jones and his buyer.

Jones pulled out huge boxes of fireworks, clearly marked.

D'Artagnan pulled out his own phone and filmed the men too. _Always film a backup copy,_ he'd been taught.

Aramis moved his phone to film the buyer's vehicle, getting a good view of the license plate before aiming it at the men again. He was surprised to see Jones take something else out of the truck and hand it to the man. "I think he just gave him drugs! We're arresting him _now_ ," Aramis said.

D'Artagnan took out his gun.

Aramis pulled out his own and stepped out from their cover. "Police! Hands up!" he shouted.

The buyer nearly jumped sky-high. He dove to the ground and crawled around the side of his SUV.

Jones pulled out a gun and fired it towards them, before running back into the garage.

"Go around the back!" Aramis told d'Artagnan, before rushing after Jones.

The buyer got into his SUV and left, the sound of his screeching tires filling the air.

Aramis ran into the garage and flattened himself against the side of the truck before Jones could shoot at him again. He was surprised to see a gun on the ground, and realized that Jones must've dropped it. "You're surrounded, Jones!" he exclaimed, inching his way further into the garage.

A sudden fizzy sound got Aramis' attention, and it took a second for him to realize was it was. He had no time to react before the loud screech of fireworks met his ears, and it flew towards him and smacked him right in the chest.

Aramis was thrown back against the truck, and he lifted his gun and fired in the direction where it had come from. It was too late, for a barrage of fireworks shot directly at him, their impact making him give a cry of shock and pain as he dropped to the ground and covered his head. Burning sparks and debris rained down on him as the fireworks slammed into the truck, above his body.

The sounds that filled the air were deafening, and Aramis tried to crawl away from the mayhem. He couldn't tell which direction to go in; his eyes were tightly shut against the bright flashes that had essentially blinded him. He knew that if Jones approached him now, he was a sitting duck.

The fireworks started to die down and Aramis lifted his aching head, blinking against the bright spots invading his vision and pointing his gun again.

"I got him, Aramis!" he suddenly heard.

The shape of d'Artagnan appeared before him, pushing a handcuffed Jones ahead of him.

Aramis let out a deep breath; wincing against the pains all over his body. "Good job," he said, before letting his head plop back down to the ground.

The next sound that Aramis heard was Porthos' voice.

"Aramis!"

"Over here," he groaned.

A hand was suddenly touching his back. "What happened?!"

"He was hit by fireworks!" said d'Artagnan, as he shoved Jones into the back of the police SUV.

"I'm okay," Aramis mumbled.

Porthos sighed, relieved that Aramis had been wearing his bulletproof vest, at least. "Get an ambulance here," he told Athos, who had appeared beside him.

"No," Aramis said. "I'm fine." He tried to roll himself over, before wincing again as pain flared through his back. "It's nothing."

"This ain't nothin', Aramis," said Porthos, still holding him down.

"It'll take too long for an ambulance to arrive," said Athos. "We'll take him to the hospital ourselves."

Aramis didn't remember anything after that until waking to a swaying sensation. He found himself lying on his side in the back of one of the SUVs, and blinked blearily as they came to a stop. He closed his eyes with a wince when hands suddenly touched him and pulled him out of the vehicle.

"He's awake!" d'Artagnan said.

"Don't worry, Aramis," said Porthos. "They're gonna take a look at you right now."

"Not another hospital," Aramis moaned.

Porthos squeezed his shoulder as they walked beside the gurney. "You'll be fine."

Aramis sighed.

It was night when the hospital finally let Aramis leave. He was covered in bandages from the assortment of burns, the biggest one being impossible for Aramis to see.

"I dunno if I would call that your 'back' exactly," said Porthos, as he helped his friend shakily walk to the door of his apartment. "It's a little low—"

"It's my back," Aramis mumbled. "And it hurts, so shut up."

"Sorry," said Porthos. If Aramis wanted to pretend that the burn was on his back, then he'd let him. Part of it _was_ on his back, anyway…the _top_ part, at least.

"Take it easy," said Treville, who was helping from Aramis' other side. Their injured friend was walking very slowly, trying not to pull on the burns.

Athos opened the door, and they carefully got Aramis to his bed, gently laying him on his side.

"I'm not staying here," Aramis mumbled, eyes closed. "I'm going to work tomorrow."

Everyone studied him for a moment. Aramis was limp and unmoving, loopy from the painkillers that the doctors had given him. He had a burn that was dangerously close to one eye, as well as tiny scattered ones all over his face and neck from sparks. His forearms were bandaged after they took the brunt while protecting his head, and his 'lower back' had the worst burn, from all the debris that rained down on him where he lay on the ground. His bulletproof vest had protected him from even more harm, which they were all grateful for.

"How would you sit in your office chair?" d'Artagnan asked. He suddenly blinked. "For that matter, how are you gonna sit on—"

"I'm fine!" Aramis exclaimed.

Everyone sent d'Artagnan a glare, who shrugged as if it was a good question…which it was.

Porthos sighed and sat on the bed, squeezing Aramis' arm. "We got the guy and his fireworks off the street, which was your goal, Aramis."

"Yup," Aramis mumbled, eyes still closed.

"And we got that buyer and the drugs that were unexpectedly involved," said Treville.

"Yup," Aramis repeated.

"But next time," said Athos. "Perhaps you'll more easily accept the peace and quiet between cases?"

"Yeah!" said Porthos. "You know what they say, Aramis—!"

Aramis knew exactly what he was thinking. "Don't say it!"

"Be careful what you wish for!" Porthos exclaimed. "You just might get it!"

THE END


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